


What is Dead May Never Die

by CaroltheQueen (always_1895)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, F/M, Ghosts, Gift Exchange, Grief/Mourning, Halloween, Romance, Spiritual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 04:39:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8432182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/always_1895/pseuds/CaroltheQueen
Summary: Written for the Kabby Trick or Treat gift exchange over on Tumblr. The Arkadians grew up knowing about our present day Halloween through Earth History lessons, and it seemed like one more wonderful relic of the past forever lost to them. On the ground, the Grounders look to a far more distant past to observe the day.





	1. Marcus

The immediate month following the destruction of ALIE was fraught with pain, stress and lingering ghosts; time would slow to a crawl when one lay sleepless at night, unable to escape the memories, then seem to speed up during the day as everyone worked tirelessly to find a solution to their nuclear ticking clock. It felt like time was running out, especially when Marcus woke up one day and suddenly took notice of how the mornings had gotten darker, the days shorter; how the cold winds had crept up on them and the leaves were turning, falling and coating the ground in beautiful hues of yellow, orange, brown. The next few days, Indra told him, as they walked together along the now well-trodden path between Arkadia and Tondc, would see the end of the harvest season and the beginning of winter. 

“We observe and honour the day,” she said, in her ever serious tone, “I invite your people to join mine for the festivities and remembrance on Hallow's Eve.”

The name sparked something in Marcus' memory of Earth History lessons, “Halloween?” He couldn't stop the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “You still have Halloween down here?”

It was almost a rite of passage up on the Ark, a phase that every child would go through, and Marcus remembered his own brief fascination with the old holiday: they would learn about it in Earth History, be obsessed with the idea of it, of making it happen for themselves and their friends, before experiencing the bitter disappointment of discovering just how unfeasible it was in their way of life. There were no pumpkins to be carved, no spare fabric to make costumes, no food or supplies to be spared from the strict rations they were allowed for children knocking on doors announcing “Trick or treat!”

Hearing that the Grounders had kept that alive all this time was the kind of thing that Marcus felt should remind his people of how they were all the same, came from the same place. The people of the Ark were in fact far more removed from humanity's history than the Grounders were. His moment of contemplation was short lived, however, because the thought of Halloween was making him feel like an excited child.

"With trick or treating, and costumes, jack o'lanterns and toffee apples?" He blurted out, unable to stop himself.

Indra levelled him with an impassive stare, "I barely understood a word of that.

So maybe _not_ the Halloween he'd learned about in childhood.

He cleared his throat, a little embarrassed, “From what I learned about Halloween it was mostly a day of fun. People would dress up, have parties, kids would knock on doors for candy – treats,” he added, off Indra's questioning look, “Hence the trick-or-treat thing – No?” He said, rather crestfallen when she showed no sign of recognition as to what he was talking about, “Nothing? Really?

"On Hallow's Eve we celebrate life and the harvest, commemorate death and the passing of the seasons. There will be a feast and children will make costumes, carve masks, tell stories. Those who wish to, will spend the time communing with their lost loved ones."

"Communing? As in speaking?"

Indra's lips twitched, if he'd blinked he would've missed it, she seemed understanding of his skepticism rather than like she was about to berate him for mocking their beliefs.

"It is different for everyone. Not all believe. Not all who seek contact with their loved ones will find it, but some... On Hallow's Eve, the veil between life and death is said to be at its thinnest. It is not unheard of for people to breach it. From one side or the other."

She said it so matter of factly (as if Indra could talk any other way), he knew she spoke the truth, or what she believed to be the truth. Marcus felt a shiver run through him involuntary. His first instinct was to be unnerved, a little disturbed, his mind full of haunted houses and scary movies, but then he thought of his mother and how it would feel to speak to her again. How he longed to describe to her the beauty of Earth despite the horrors they had seen, and how he'd planted the Eden tree for her in the forest where it belonged.

Even if it was all in the mind, if it gave people closure and helped them with their grief, who was he to say it was all superstition? It occurred to him that they still knew so little of this world that the Grounder's had inhabited all this time, that he hardly had the experience to say for certain what was and wasn't possible.

“Have you -?” Marcus started to ask, before realising it was rather a personal question and he never quite knew with Indra where he might overstep his bounds. He supposed he'd know if she threatened to decapitate him; she was straightforward like that.

After a moment of silence that stretched on long enough that Marcus didn't think he would get an answer, she said, almost reverently, “I believe someone came to me once, yes.”

Marcus nodded, hoping she read only acceptance and respect on his face. “We would be honoured to be there.” 

* * *

As the nights drew in, it felt more and more like Marcus stayed at his desk working late. Staring at reports and propositions until his eyes blurred from tiredness. Tonight, Abby finished in medical and it seemed like she came straight to the war room, knowing he would be there rather than their room. (It had wordlessly been _their_ room ever since they'd returned from Polis, after ALIE. But though they curled up together at night, they were still navigating their new found intimacy tentatively, though not out of hesitance. They wanted it to be _right._ ) She entered and walked over to perch her hip at the edge of his desk, bending down to brush her lips over his in a soft, aching, kiss of greeting. It never failed to send a thrill through him, that this was something he was allowed now.

"Hey," She murmured, her smile easy and tender and filling his chest with warmth, "It's really getting cold at night now. I need my chancellor blanket."

Marcus had to pause and replay her words before deciding that he was still confused, "Sorry, your what?"

She rolled her eyes fondly, smirking, "You, babe. You're my chancellor blanket. C'mon."

Marcus snorted, let her take his hand and tug him to his feet. They walked the short distance to their quarters hand in hand, uncaring that they might prompt teasing from any of their brood of teenagers. But the hallways were fairly deserted at the late hour.

It wasn't until they'd both gone about their nightly routine and Abby was settling into her place in bed next to him as he wrapped his arms around her, that she asked, "How did it go with Indra today?"

Marcus propped himself up on his elbow to look down at her with a grin, and with a tilt of her head it was clear Abby's curiosity was already peaked.

"She invited us to a Halloween party."

Abby raised her eyebrows, "Come again?"

Marcus huffed a laugh, "The Grounders celebrate Halloween, Abby. Or their version of it at least. I gather it's more about honouring the dead and the end of the harvest, but there'll be food and music and costumes..."

"Oh, wow," There was a look of childlike awe creeping onto her face, and Marcus wondered if he'd had the same expression on his own during his conversation with Indra. "That's..."

"Pretty amazing?"

" _Absolutely_." Her eyes were dancing, a real grin lighting up her face, and Marcus badly wished he could keep her here like this forever, looking up at him, warm and happy in his arms, with the weight of their lives seemingly gone for a moment.

"She mentioned some slightly unnerving things about seances and talking to the dead," He went on, and felt a pang of disappointment when Abby's face fell a little, knew where her mind was going, and hurriedly added, "But it's not a compulsory thing. Just a matter of personal spiritual belief." He covered one of her hands with his and she let him tangle their fingers easily. "It's about honouring them, Abby. Trying to remember without the pain."

Her smile was sad, "I'm not sure I know how to do that."

He squeezed her hand, "Maybe that's the point. Maybe it could help us learn to. It might help our people." He hesitated, "It might help Clarke. Octavia." _If she even decides to come,_ he thought. Indra had assured him that she was keeping an eye on Octavia, and that the girl was generally staying within Tondc or Trikru territory. Marcus longed to reach out to her, but Indra gave him a hard look and simply said, “She is lost, but she will find her way. She is strong; give her time.”

Abby exhaled shakily, "We all carry enough ghosts everyday. Clarke more than anyone." 

Her free hand had drifted to the ring on its chain around her neck, he wondered if it was a conscious reaction or not. Her voice was full of grief and regret, and Marcus almost wished he'd never mentioned Indra's invitation at all, except that he was sure somehow that some good would come out of all of it. Besides, his rational self argued, they should take advantage of any occasion to strengthen their ties with other clans; continue to work towards erasing the idea of _us_ and _them._ They might all be dead in five months, but then again, they might not be. 

"I think this is about letting go as much as remembering." He frowned, shook his head at himself, "If that makes any sense." 

The sadness lifted from her face a little, and she looked at him fondly, lifting the hand that had been sliding the ring along its chain, and running her fingers over his cheek, his beard. 

"I understand what you're saying," she reassured, "It must be irresistible, to believe they can talk to the dead. That the dead might speak back. But I can't imagine what it would be like to talk to Jake again, if I could. I don't know what I'd say." 

_Sorry_ , Marcus thought. They'd both say sorry. The old guilt rose within him, though he knew it was only a fraction of what Abby felt. Then he thought about the weight of 320 lives on his soul that he would never be able to stop apologising for. He held Abby against him tighter, buried his face in her hair for a moment, breathing her in, anchoring himself, refusing to get swept away with self-loathing again. 

"Clarke has a very real way to speak to someone she loved and lost." Abby said, and Marcus drew back enough to look at her in confusion, "She still has the Flame. And Lexa is in there. She told me. Some digital imprint of Lexa, anyway." 

Marcus had never thought to ask Clarke about the specifics, what she'd seen when she'd taken the second AI. He only knew that she'd been able to destroy ALIE, and had survived because of the nightblood transfusion. He hadn't wanted to think about the City of Light anymore than he'd had to. The Spirit of the Commander, the Grounders called it; he supposed it made sense, given how people could live on in the City of Light, that a version of Lexa would be inside that chip. 

"The chip would kill her, of course it would," Abby went on, voice strained, "But she must feel that impulse to take it again every day, if it meant she would be able to see Lexa again." She sniffed and Marcus' chest clenched painfully when a tear escaped and slipped down her cheek. He caught it with his thumb, and she gave him a watery smile. "Ugh, God," She turned onto her side and curled herself into him, hooking her leg over his and tucking her face into his neck, "Ghosts used to be more fun when we were kids." 

Marcus breathed a small laugh at her attempt to lighten the mood, and ran a hand up and down her spine, "Well there may be a few witches and vampires running riot too, we can only hope." 

He was delighted and relieved when there was a small giggle in response. 


	2. Abby

Predictably, the kids (Abby was still guilty of calling them kids, even if it was just in the privacy of her own head) were struck by the same kind of excitement that she had felt when Marcus first told her the news, before their discussion had taken a sombre turn. And so for a while they listened to Jasper and Monty babble about the scary movies they wished hadn't been lost when the Ark crashed to Earth, watched as Nate started bragging about scary campfire stories that would "scare the shit" out of everyone, followed by Harper and Bryan exchanging a nervous glance and warning him of "what happened last time" he decided to tell a ghost story. Abby, in all honestly, didn't want to know.

Raven was throwing out ideas faster than Abby could make sense of what she was saying, but gathered it had something to do with making lights and decorations out of scrap metal. Clarke and Bellamy simply stood to the side, presiding over the group, like vaguely amused parents watching the antics of their children. Abby tried to subtly watch her daughter, tried to discern just what she might really be thinking.

In the recent weeks since she'd emerged from the City of Light, Clarke had seemed to be thoroughly focused on looking ahead, driving forwards with the same fierce determination that had been there since she'd first crashed to Earth. She showed no signs that she might run again, though Abby was constantly on edge, waiting for it to happen, and seemed to have no interest in dwelling on the past, at least when she was talking to Abby. She'd told her about Lexa, about mourning her, and about what had happened in the City of Light, but there was no discussion of those months she'd been away. Marcus, with infinite care and gentleness, had helped her to the conclusion that there were just some parts of Clarke that were closed off to Abby now. They were repairing their relationship, but it would never be the same. That didn't mean, however, that it was less loving, just different. Clarke was an adult, and Abby had to learn to adjust.

Just as Clarke, she imagined, had to adjust to her and Marcus. It was a conversation she was nervously waiting to have, feeling like, even though they weren't keeping their relationship a secret, and Clarke had even encouraged her to be at Marcus' side after ALIE was destroyed, Jake would forever linger between them. But then, she thought, she would always see Jake when she looked at Clarke, would always have a piece of him in their daughter; he would never be gone and she wouldn't wish him to be.

Of course, Clarke was part Abby as well, and it was all too clear when she stiffened at the mention of talking to the dead, just as Abby had done. She watched Clarke school her expression, her anxiety only evident in the tightening of her jaw, and knew she wouldn't appreciate Abby calling attention to her unease by crossing over and asking if she was okay. However, just like she now felt the warm comforting presence of Marcus at her side, Clarke had her own support: Bellamy had seemed to instinctively notice the way she'd tensed, and leaned into her, catching her eyes in an unspoken question. Somehow it was enough to know that Clarke at least had someone, even if she wished it could still be her.

"She'll be okay." Came Marcus' low murmur in her ear, and the way he was so obviously attuned to Abby's own thoughts, how he'd clearly been watching Clarke and Bellamy with the same concern, made her want to turn her head just that fraction enough to capture his mouth with her own. It overwhelmed her with love, the way he cared for these kids.

"Did Indra say if Octavia would be there?" Bellamy asked suddenly, and the room grew quiet.

Marcus drew a breath beside her and Abby slipped her hand into his; he still felt a huge amount of responsibility and guilt when it came to the Blake siblings.

"She didn't, no," Marcus said, "But I would hope..." He trailed off, struggling. Clarke, it seemed, picked up his train of thought, for he looked at her gratefully.

"This is how Trikru will honour Lincoln." She looked up at Bellamy's hopeful expression, "She'll want to follow the traditions of his people." She paused, then added, quietly, "I do."

She could've meant Lincoln or Lexa or both, Abby didn't know, but Marcus had been right, this could help Clarke.

* * *

Once Abby entered Tondc on Hallow's Eve, along with those willing to make an effort with the Grounders (whom, she was pleased to note, outnumbered those who did not), she immediately knew they would not regret it. The sight was nothing short of wondrous.

The night was atmospheric, clouds obscuring the moon and the stars, and there was the bite of winter in the air, a light wind stirring the trees as they'd walked through the woods. Tondc was like a haven of light and warmth in the darkness. Torches danced brightly around the gathering in the village square, and at the centre the fire pit roared, beckoning Abby towards it to ward off the chill. Marcus, along with several of the kids, had gone on ahead to help set everything up, and Raven's mismatched fairy lights and strange metal jack o'lanterns cast a colourful glow overhead.

Long wooden tables had been set up and Abby's stomach growled at the sight of the spread of food. Skaikru had contributed what they could, mostly fruit and vegetables from the gardens they were still working at. They were still learning to grow and prepare food down on the ground, something that the Grounders had decades more experience of, evident in the delicious smells of roasted meat, freshly baked bread, and something rich and sweet that was unlike anything Abby had smelled or tasted before.

Everywhere there was the low buzz of conversation amongst good company, broken every now and then by the wonderful sound of children laughing. Many wore costumes and masks that were vaguely reminiscent of the kind of spooky creatures Abby had grown up watching in old films, chasing each other around, some jumping out of hiding places trying to scare their friends. 

Most of the people who'd entered the village with her made a beeline for the tables, but Abby lingered alone by the fire pit, listening, despite all the distractions around her, to the whistling of the wind in the trees, watching the sway of them, as if they were great, hulking, living beasts; the impenetrable darkness of nature surrounding her on all sides. She shivered, no longer sure if it was simply from the cold. She was being ridiculous, she told herself, it was just the wind, and she was getting far too caught up in the atmosphere of the evening. She still jumped a mile when a pair of arms grabbed her around the waist unexpectedly, and Abby whipped round to punch a laughing Marcus in the chest.

"Jesus! Don't _do_ that!"

"Little jumpy, aren't we?"

"You just surprised me." She pursed her lips against the urge to mirror Marcus' teasing grin, "It's not funny."

"I'm sorry, it is a bit." He continued to chuckle, whilst Abby made a show of huffing in annoyance, and gently turned her to face the fire again, wrapping himself around her from behind, "You looked cold. Better?"

The press of his body, warm and familiar against her back, and the heat of the flames in front of them served to drive back the night, making her feel safe and cozy. Loved.

She hummed an affirmative, "Don't think you're forgiven, though."

He laughed again, a puff of breath that stirred her hair, "Guess I'll have to work on that." and dropped a kiss to her neck, just below her ear, that had her shivering in an entirely different way.

As caught up as she'd been in the spectacle around them, her own thoughts, and then Marcus, she didn't notice the lone figure sat on the other side of the pit, staring into the flames, until then. Octavia's face was blank; her eyes were unseeing, tired rings darkening the skin beneath. Her dark hair hanging in a curtain, and the shadows that seemed to engulf her, made her seem a small, pale, gaunt thing. All at once, the mother in Abby felt the need to rush to her, hold her, bring her back to life somehow, but another part of her felt immediately guilty for standing there, content, in Marcus' arms.

"I don't know what to say to her," Marcus murmured, having noticed the direction she'd been looking. He sounded sad, defeated. "She won't look at Bellamy. At me. She probably thinks it should've been me." He sighed, "She'd be right."

"No." Her first reaction was visceral: gut clenching fear at the mere thought of it, like she was back in that room with him, saying goodbye. But she turned to face him full of resolve, "It was Lincoln's choice, _his_ people he was protecting. Do you really think he'd have let you take the fall for him?"

He bowed his head for a moment and Abby couldn't resist the urge to stroke back the hair that fell over his forehead.

"I thought tonight was about letting go of the guilt and the pain?" She said, ducking little to catch his gaze.

Marcus gave her a small, wry smile, "I did say that, didn't I?" He sighed again and his eyes drifted back over her shoulder to Octavia. He touched her arm, "Abby, look."

Abby turned to see Jasper cautiously approaching Octavia, watching her intently as if she were a wild animal that could startle and run at any moment. When Octavia neither acknowledged nor stopped him in his tracks, he settled down on the log next to her, following her gaze but clearly staring past the flames and, like her, into a place only he could see.

Abby caught herself holding her breath until, still not looking at her, she saw Jasper incline his head towards the girl and begin to speak. With the distance between them and the crackling of the fire there was no way they might hear anything of what he was saying, not that Abby really wanted to; his words were clearly for Octavia only.

"She's listening," Marcus murmured, hopefully, and Abby wondered how he could tell until he answered without her having to ask, "She's not walking away."

Finally, after several long minutes, Octavia looked at Jasper, and, though it seemed to Abby as though her expression didn't change, he must have found some sign there that he was getting through. He reached out and took her hand, and Octavia let him, her composure falling just a little. Abby felt relief wash through her, and behind her Marcus breathed, " _Thank God._ " echoing her thoughts. Abby tilted her head back to rest against his shoulder for a moment, watching dying embers float like fireflies into the night sky, before taking Marcus' hand and leading him over to the tables where people had gathered.

Clarke flagged them down, standing near a table with Bellamy shifting uncomfortably at her side. He didn't want to be there, Abby knew. None of the other people who'd followed Pike to slaughter the Grounder army had come, but Bellamy was making the effort. There were two more places set at the table than their number of four. Abby looked around, not everyone was sat at a table, in fact most were milling around.

"Mom," Abby looked up to find Clarke watching her, carefully. She looked almost nervous. "There's a tradition..." She trailed off and looked at the table, "On Halloween they set a place at the table for people they've lost." She said quietly. "This is for Dad."

She wouldn't deny that she felt the urge to run, to cry, but drowning out the fear was the need to put her arms around her daughter, who was looking at her with wide, glistening eyes. Abby rushed to her and Clarke sank into her embrace with a relieved sigh. They had never had the chance to just _be_ together with the memory of Jake, their mourning had been separate, full of regret and guilt and anger. Clarke was giving them the chance now, and Abby could only hold her, too overwhelmed for words, hoping that her understanding and gratitude came across in a single, tremulous, "Thank you."

She withdrew to press a kiss to Clarke's forehead. Her daughter's answering smile was tearful but radiant, then her eyes flicked over to Marcus, standing awkwardly behind them, looking like he wasn't sure if he belonged there. Abby immediately stepped forwards to reassure him, but before she could say anything, Clarke spoke again.

"I didn't know your mom," She was talking to Marcus now, Abby realised the same time as he did, and his eyes, wide and startled, shot to Clarke, "But I thought..." Again, Abby watched the understanding cross his face at the same time as it dawned on her: there were _two_ extra places set. "If that's - If you want to." Clarke finished, obviously nervous again.

Just when Abby thought she couldn't love her more, Clarke was reaching out to Marcus, knowing how much he had come to mean to her mother, and including him in something deeply meaningful.

Marcus was speechless, he looked to Abby has though he might cry. When he didn't speak, Clarke obviously thought she'd crossed a line,

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to presume -"

"No, I..." Marcus interrupted, struggling for words. He swallowed with difficulty, and Abby could see he was trying to control his emotions. "I - This is... This means... " He sighed, starting again, "Thank you, Clarke. This means everything."

Clarke smiled again, "You should be here."

And Abby heard all the things she wasn't saying: _You're with Mom now and I'm happy for you. You belong with us._

As they quietly sat themselves at the table, with Jake's empty seat between Abby and Ckarke, Marcus, from where he sat at Abby's other side, gripping her hand for dear life, blurted to Clarke,

"She liked you." He smiled softly, his eyes looking off into some distant memory, "Just like she liked your mother."

He looked at Abby and there was that lump in her throat all over again at the thought of how proud Vera Kane would have been of her son in that moment. 

By some unspoken agreement, it seemed the noise around them suddenly died, and those still standing either made their way to their seats or quietly and respectfully took their leave, crossing to the far side of the fire pit. Octavia was no longer there, and Abby had only a moment to look for her before a small, elderly woman stood, wrapped up heavily in furs against the chill, and adorned in trinkets, carved wood and bone and minerals, all rattling faintly as she got to her feet. Her hair was white and fell below her waist, twisted and braided in the traditional Grounder style, and her face was deeply wrinkled, eyes dark but lightly clouded with cataracts. She looked kind, approachable, but with an air of seriousness that Abby thought perhaps was reserved for the occasion. She looked like someone's beloved grandmother, or the very image of the village "wise woman".

She started speaking in Trigedasleng, too quickly for Abby to discern what she was saying, so she took to glancing at Marcus and Clarke, trying to gauge their reactions. Marcus caught her eye and leaned in to whisper in her ear,

"She's talking about the tradition of Halloween, welcoming us here, and the people who have travelled "beyond the veil,"" He said with an inflicted gravitas that Abby struggled not to giggle at, "to be with us tonight."

"We thank Skaikru for their gesture of acceptance and friendship by joining us," the woman said, switching suddenly to English, "Our loved ones that have passed over are not lost to us. They walk in lands we have yet to travel, but they are here tonight, as our worlds bleed together. They are here to speak to you. You need only think of them and listen. _Chit ste daun nou na wan op nowe._ "

" _Chit ste daun nou na wan op nowe._ " Her audience intoned, and the droning sound of it made Abby shiver, even before Marcus translated quietly,

"What is dead may never die."

The old woman sat down again and wordlessly took the hands of those seated either side of her. Like a ripple effect, everyone followed suit and Abby, still holding Marcus' hand, entwined their fingers and squeezed. She couldn't explain why she was nervous. Well, she _could_ , but it was an entirely irrational response. Nothing was about to happen, but she still took comfort in Marcus' thumb stroking over her knuckles and Clarke gently taking her other hand in her own. Clarke stared expectantly at Bellamy, hand palm up, waiting, until the boy huffed a sigh, rolled his eyes and took it. He eyed Marcus on his other side, who gave him an overly bright smile and grabbed his hand whilst Abby snorted; she felt a little of that tension coiled inside her fade.

"Think of them and listen." Said the old woman again, and for a while Abby thought you could hear a pin drop in the silence.

It seemed as though the night had gone eerily still.

The air, rapidly growing frosty the later into the night it got, seemed thick; with tension, she thought. _Or something else_ , whispered a treacherous, frightened voice in the back of her mind. A sensation that she could neither see, hear, smell or touch was creeping up on her, like an itch under her skin, a thrumming of energy just below the surface that had her heart fluttering. The power of suggestion, Abby thought, hanging on to her skepticism. It wasn't that she mocked or begrudged these people for their beliefs, but she was a scientist. As a doctor she dealt in absolutes. The patient's life was in her hands until it wasn't; until she'd done everything she could do and then they were just gone, living on only in memory. Of course, they had spirituality on the Ark, Marcus' own mother had been a great advocate of that, a leader of the faith, and Abby had respected Vera Kane immensely.

She tried to focus on things to ground herself, the hard wooden chair she was sitting ramrod straight in, the lingering smells of food and the smokiness in the air from the fire pit; she felt the solid, reassuring warmth of Marcus and Clarke's hands in her own. She watched Bellamy as his head began nodding towards his chest, threatening to fall asleep, until he jerked himself awake again. Abby bit her lip to keep from laughing, but she could feel her own eyelids growing strangely heavy, despite the tension in her body, and they drifted shut against her will.

In the deafening silence they could have been sat there for minutes or hours, when Marcus suddenly stiffened, a small gasp escaping, too quiet for anyone but her to hear. But before she could open her eyes to make sure he was okay, Abby _felt_ it: movement all around her, not as solid as the press of bodies in a crowd, but feather light brushes of someone, _something_ passing by. The hairs on her back of her neck, on her arms, stood on end. No one had gotten up, there had been no scraping of chairs being pushed back nor the sound of footsteps, only now small gasps and murmurs like she;d heard from Marcus, and Abby suddenly didn't dare open her eyes.

It felt like the soft fluttering of fabric in a breeze, and as they kept coming, kept touching her, Abby began to feel fleeting impressions, far away thoughts in her mind that were snatched back as quickly as they appeared, before she could truly grasp them.

She didn't mean to do it, but without her permission she found herself whispering, barely a breath,

"Jake?"

The floodgates opened.

It was _Jake_. Nothing so tangible as seeing him in front of her (or even clearly in her minds eye), or hearing his voice in her ear, but the _feeling_ was undeniably him; it was the swoop in her stomach of that moment she realised she was in love; it was the pure joy of seeing him cradling their daughter in his arms for the first time. It was his idealism, his laugh, loud and honest, his engineer's hands, the smell of his hair, the agony of him being ripped out into the vacuum of space, the heartache of his absence.

And all of it was caught in a feedback loop, Jake's emotions and memories reflecting and merging with hers like they were her own, and Abby almost couldn't breathe with the powerful onslaught. As if he sensed this, Jake took a step back in her mind, and the torrent eased into a calm stream of love and familiarity, though she felt his yearning to remain close to her, to Clarke, whose hand was trembling in Abby's. Could Clarke feel him too?

The grip Abby had on Marcus' hand must have been painful, and she waited for a moment for the guilt to rise up; Jake could see into her heart in this moment, she had no doubt, and he would see her love for Marcus, her surety of his love for her, how they'd found love and salvation in each other when neither of them thought they would find a way out of the dark.

But it never came. For just as surely as Jake could see her, she could feel his heart too, and it held no betrayal, or blame or hurt. Just a bitter-sweet acceptance and solace that Abby had found a measure of happiness after everything she'd been through and done. He offered forgiveness that he didn't feel was necessary, but gave it anyway because he knew Abby felt she didn't deserve it. She felt a wave of calm understanding wash over her: this was a message of love, and a goodbye that felt resolved.

"The veil is closing,” The old woman's words were jarring after spending so long in silence, and Abby jumped, “Our worlds are no longer merged. Their souls are returning to their rest. They leave you with love and with thanks. Remember them, but do not let yourself be consumed by loss. By living, by loving, by fighting on, you honour them and what they died for. _Emo gonplei ste odon. Oso gonplei gon em.*_

The feeling of Jake faded, not lost, for it could never be lost, just settling back to the familiar everyday place he kept in her heart; while his soul (if that's what it was) withdrew with a final caress of emotional impressions. Once again they rushed through her head, everything Jake wanted to say made into one torrent of sensations: _we'll always love each other forgive yourself it wasn't just you it was my fault too kane jaha we all played a part you and Clarke look after each other be strong like you always have been... live love laugh hope._

_Let's call it hope_ , she almost whispered out loud, and squeezed Marcus' hand, locked tightly in hers still. She opened her eyes and the tears were unstoppable, leaving salty trails down her cheeks and blurring her sight.

Jake said goodbye with a final gift, a memory made so strong that Abby felt as if his arms were really around her and his lips were brushing hers, sweetly, one last time.

Then he was gone, and Abby _breathed_. She let out a little sob, having been crying entirely silently until that moment, and opened her eyes to immediately look at Clarke. She was resting her head on Bellamy's shoulder, and there were traces of tears on her face, but she met Abby's gaze, looking more at peace than she ever had on the ground. Then she turned to Marcus, who looked about as emotionally drained as Abby felt. His eyes, red rimmed and wet as they were, were wistful and there was a small smile playing at his lips. He turned to meet her gaze and they found there were no words needed. Everything in her knew, though she could never explain how, that Marcus had felt his mother, just as Jake had come to her.

A couple of tears escaped as he looked at her, still overwhelmed, awed, by what they'd just experienced, and propriety be damned, Abby left her seat to sit with him, practically crawling into his lap, so she could wrap her arms around him. Marcus wound his around her waist and turned his face into the crook of her neck, breathing her in.

"If Skaikru would like to join their traditional words of passing to ours?" Indra raised her voice enough for everyone to hear. She looked across the room to Marcus who inclined his head in respect and thanks. Abby suddenly felt rather conspicuous sat in his lap and moved back into her own chair, but kept her hand in his, silently supportive. He was quiet for a moment, and she knew he was aware of everyone's eyes on him, but then Abby saw that he was trying to reign in his emotions, be their chancellor. And then she realised why: the last time she'd heard Marcus say those words, in their entirety, he was watching his mother die right in front of him.

Abby stroked her over the back of Marcus' hand, comforting, then she firmed her resolve, and breathed deeply, "In peace may you leave this shore..."

Everyone was looking at her now, including Marcus, eyes shining in gratitude. Then he joined his voice to hers.

"In love may you find the next."

The rest of their people continued with them after that, reciting the words they'd known since childhood, never dreaming that they would ever be saying them on Earth, having made that final journey to the ground to live upon it. Abby and Marcus kept their eyes on each other the whole time, until the final line when, as one, they turned and regarded the empty seats next to them.

"May we meet again."

* * *

It wasn't long before Abby excused herself from the revelries that showed no sign of slowing down, though it seemed to her that the sky was beginning to lighten and she wondered how far off dawn was. She felt physically and emotionally wrung out; there was a heaviness in her limbs that she partially attributed to the sweet mead Nyko had shoved into her hand after the communion, with a challenging look. Not one to be outdone, she'd arched an eyebrow in response, lifted the tankard and they drank to Lincoln.

The alcohol warmed her veins and had her stumbling sleepily now, into the hut that had been designated for _Skaihefa Marcus_ , and dropped down into the cradle of soft heavy furs that covered the ground within.

Thankfully, several candles had already been lit; Abby didn't relish fumbling around for her things in the dark, and at some point in the evening, someone, presumably Marcus, had left a small battery powered heater inside. The small space was perfectly toasty warm, a cosy little haven that blocked out the chill of the winter night, and was far enough removed from the village centre that the noise from that direction was distant, muffled.

Abby sighed, and simply lay for a moment, fingers brushing over Jake's ring on its chain. She hadn't felt peace like this since his death; never thought she would have permission, from herself or from the ghost of him that lived in her head, to be happy, to truly move on and _live_ , not just survive. And she wanted to live, with Marcus. She wanted everything with him, and she knew, without having to ask him, that Marcus was already offering her everything he had to give. He was just waiting on her.

"Because he's dumb like that." She suddenly mumbled out loud to no one. Maybe she was a little more tipsy than she'd thought.

It was so tempting to stay where she was and just sink into sleep, but she was still wearing her jacket and boots, crusted with mud from walking through the forest. Abby sat up just enough to tug them off and wriggle out of her jacket, flinging both in the vicinity near the door, then looked contemplatively at the backpack Marcus had left in the hut, presumably full of supplies. Upon inspection, Abby's med kit took up the bulk of space, but underneath she found a spare grey t shirt, and, with a self satisfied grin, shimmied out of the rest of her clothes and slipped the t shirt over her head. It fell mid thigh; it was soft, old, and worn, and it smelled like Marcus.

The warmth of the hut meant that she was comfortable enough despite wearing only that thin layer, and she settled back down on the bed. It seemed she fell into a doze because she had no idea how long it was before -

"Do you have any idea how incredible you look right now?"

Abby was smiling before she was even fully awake and rolled over to find Marcus in the doorway, openly staring at her bare legs. She purposely stretched with a little contented moan, and watched him swallow hard, eyes darkening.

"Seriously," He said, voice rougher now, as he toed off his boots, "You're lucky it's just me." He pulled off his shirt in one swift move and, oh, suddenly there was tanned, muscle toned skin on display, and Abby _wanted_. "Anyone else came in here you'd give them a heart attack."

He sank down onto his knees on the furs next to her, and immediately Abby had her arms around his neck, pulling him in to settle between her legs, his body covering hers completely.

She tangled her fingers in his hair and smiled lazily up at him, "Hmm, is my costume really that scary?"

"Oh, it's something alright." He ducked down to kiss her, slow and deep, the wet heat of his mouth and tongue contrasting deliciously with the prickle of his beard. Abby arched up against him and he groaned into her mouth.

"So," She whispered playfully, breathless between kisses, "Trick or treat?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * _Emo gonplei ste odon. Oso gonplei gon em._ \- Their fight is over. We fight for them.


End file.
